"Fucking Gilbert & Sullivan."

If you were to ask me what I was listening to on my Ipod these days, I would say to you, "Fucking Gilbert & Sullivan."

Then I would tell you how I stumbled upon the 1983 film version of The Pirates of Penzance on A&E last weekend and DVR'd the last 2/3rds of it. (With a young Kevin Kline effortlessly making his mark as the Pirate King.) And how Act 2 has an extra song added to it, that I didn't remember from previous versions of "Pirates" that I'd seen. I IMDB'd it and it appears that the filmmakers added a song from another G & S musical, "My Eyes are Fully Open" from Ruddigore (or The Witches Curse).

And I would probably wince as explained that I really, really like this song. It's exceptionally fast and has very complex lyrics that the singers have to navigate. No effort is made to simplify the language for the singers. It would be difficult to speak aloud, much less race briskly through at G & S speed.

I might explain to you that I REALLY like the melody of this song and caught myself humming it in the shower, without knowing what it was that I was humming. And how I stood there until I could place the melody and when I recognized it, I downloaded it from Itunes and I've had it on repeat for a day or two now on my Ipod, trying to force it out of my brain. Which repeats it, at an alarming rate, as the subtext to everything I do.

If you catch me standing in a line and hear me humming a bouncy tune, it's that "fucking Gilbert & Sullivan." If you see my knees bouncing under my desk it's in the rhythm of "Fucking Gilbert & Sullivan." And if I'm on the train smiling, while my ipod is quietly whispering into my ears, you can bet that I am listening to... you get the idea.

Anyways. Here's a link to the lyrics for an exceptionally well written short ditty from a Gilbert & Sullivan musical that you'd likely never heard of. If you really want an excuse to stab pencils into your ears, check out the links to the midi's that are on the same page. OR better yet, go to Itunes and listen to the 20 second sample. Or illegally download a copy.

It's a pretty great little tune.

Cheers,
Mr. B

Superman is a Dick.

Have you seen the site
Superman is a Dick?

It's an amazing collection of old Superman comics covers, all portraying Superman as being a real jerk to Lois, Jimmy and anyone else who happens to wander by. And the author, Mike Miksch, offers up some really spot on commentary on each cover.

Anyways, check it out. It's a great site.

Cheers,
Mr.B


An Example of One of the Covers.

PS. I went ahead and threw up a link over on the left for future reference. In case you're looking for it again, later.

I feel like this today.

It's been a long, boring workday.

Someone that I was trying to compliment, sort of reacted negatively to my efforts.

A simple decision of a temporary rehearsal space for my team has turned into a long, annoying process.

And I'm frustrated by the sheer number of ladies that I fancy, that either don't fancy me or are already dating someone else. Why is that?

And people, in general, annoy me.

For today.

Right now.

Tomorrow, I am sure, I will feel like this again.



But for today?

LOOK OUT!

MAD BEAR!
MAD BEAR!

David Copperfield: Crime Fighter!

This is too good to not post about. This just appeared on the news feed. Check it out for yourself.

Copperfield Magically Foils Robbery
WireImage

WEST PALM BEACH, Florida (April 26) - Illusionist David Copperfield escaped getting robbed.

After his show at a West Palm Beach performing arts center Sunday Copperfield was walking with two female assistants back to their tour bus when four teenagers pulled up in a black car and two demanded the group's belongings, according to police.

An assistant handed over $400 from her pockets while the other gave up her purse with 200, $100, her passport, plane tickets and a cell phone. Copperfield refused to empty his pockets, the report said.

Copperfield says he turned his pockets inside out to reveal nothing in them, even though he was carrying his passport, wallet and cell phone.

"Call it reverse pick-pocketing," Copperfield told The Palm Beach Post for its Wednesday editions.

When the alleged robbers left in the car, Copperfield read the license plate number to an assistant while she called 911.

Four teenagers were arrested shortly after and the assistants' property recovered. They were charged with armed robbery and are being held without bond.

Three of the alleged robbers are 17, while the fourth, Dwayne Riley, is 18-years-old.

Now, THAT is precisely what Master Magicians should be doing. Using their magic to fight crime. You know, "With Great Power, Comes Great Responsibility". Granted, all he did was protect his wallet and cell phone, but he DID call in their license plate number. If ONLY he would've made some leopards appear in a nearby trashcan and have them attack the nogoodniks!
Or tied them up with a rope of never-ending scarves that he produced from his pants zipper!

This is one of those news articles when "The World That We Actually Live In" intersects with "The World I Would Like To Live In."

I have a new respect for Copperfield. That man is AMAZING! I bet this absolutely ruined David Blaine's day.

Cheers,
Mr.B

"It Had To Be Me" : The Movie Link.

Trying out an embedded player here. Let's see if it works.



This is Phillip Mottaz's 10 minute film, "It had to be me."
It won this year's Vidiocy project. And it's really, fucking brilliant.
Watch it with sound for maximum effect. The ending is SO funny.
Also, I have a brief cameo as the "Millionaire Philathropist".

I'll also throw link to this, up in the YouTube Repository. For later reference.

Bravo, Phip! You deserved the First Prize for this! It's really wondeful!

Mr. B

The Protocols of Zion.

10 minutes ago, I finished watching an excellent documentary film. "The Protocols of Zion."

The first thing that I did was call my friend Joe to talk with him about it. Joe and I share similar world views and we're both hungry for new information and for that which we perceive as the truth. Granted, we're both die hard humanist liberals.
We've seen all the Robert Greenwald documentaries.
We both saw all of the Michael Moore films.
We both made a special night for watching "Control Room" the documentary about Al Jazira.
We like these sorts of movies.
They inform us and shine lights in corners of the world that are usually hidden to two middle class, Chicago residents with no close ties to politics. We devour them hungrily, like readers in the 50's would've devoured Kerouac and Ginsberg. It insulates us for living in a world where an entire new network is openly co-opted by religious extremists, neo-conservatives and regularly edits and ignores news to highlight a political agenda over the truth. This is a NEWS network that we're talking about here.

So, when I finished watching this movie, the first thing that I wanted to do was discuss it with Joe. He didn't answer his phone. So, instead, I am coming here to discuss it with you.

First of all, this is an exceptionally well made documentary film. It's a documentary about Marc Levin, a Jewish filmmaker who examines anti-semitism which has seemed to flourish since 9/11 and how it stems from a Russian propaganda piece called "The protocols of the Elders of Zion." I have to admit before I saw this film, I'd never seen nor heard of the "The protocols of Zion" but then again, I'm not a racist and bigot, so it never made it onto my reading list. The "POZ" claims to be the minutes of a meeting by a secret society of Jewish elders who met around 1900 to outline their secret plan to take over the world and control all societies.
Globally.
The whole world.
From the top to the bottom.
Some of their ideas include "producing mass media to divert the interests of the people away from revolution", "Suppression of alternative faiths" and "Control of all journalism to control the printed truth".

It's all bullshit though.

The book was printed in 1905 by Russian agents of the Czar to denounce the godlessness of the rising tide of communism. Which was thought to be created by and championed by the Russian Jews. The book was taken quite seriously at the time but was eventually researched by the London Times and found to be baseless and entirely fictional.

And yet it's still being printed today and is a popular best seller and is the treasure trove of "truth" for the masses of anti-semites of the world.

The movie, "The Protocols of Zion", elaborates on the books history and shows it's influence today. In the movie you meet the owner of a White Supremacists group that prints and ships the book (as well as Nazi coffee mugs and swastika flags) to anyone who wants a copy. (In the movie, its sold out and on back order when the camera crews visit the warehouse.) That's him to the right talking to Levin.

(They have an amusing exchange over the possibility of Hitler having had Jewish ancestry and so hated it that he made anti-semitism a foundation of the Third Reich.
"Well, only a Jewish mind coult think that up" says The Skinhead Salesman.
"I don't know," says Levin. "That theory has been floated around."
"Well, why would he do that, then? Work so hard to eliminate something that he was a part of" asks the SS.
"Self Loathing, maybe. Maybe he wanted to kill that part of himself. Suicidal tendancies." offers Levin.
The SS is stunned. "I don't see Hitler as being self-loathing or suicidal."
"Yes, but he killed himself. He actually commited suicide" offers Levin.
And the film cuts away before the Salesman actually says, "Oh yeah, that's right. Whoops! My bad!.")

The movie expands its view to examine all the ways that anti-semitism is aired in our country today.
You'll see angry blacks decrying the holocaust, because it takes focus away from their own claims of intolerance.
You meet the owner and operator of the "Jew Watch" website.
You see how "The Passion of the Christ" stirs up anti-semitic feelings in the Christian community.
You'll see Palestinians grieving for the founder of Hamas, and airing their views on Israel.
You'll see an 3 year old Arabic child who quietly explains that "Jews are apes and pigs" because the "Koran told [her] so."
And you'll meet one of the chief coroners for Ground Zero who patiently explains that the "rumor" that the Jews were notified of the attacks and were warned away from work on 9/11 is absolutely false. He has the bone fragments from his friends leg to prove it.

The voices of hatred for Jews that you hear in the film range from the vitriolic and inarticulately manic to the calm and patiently justified. But the message stays the same. "My particular party is better than the Jews, because the Jews control everything. " The paradox is never commented upon.

In the midst of all of this angry emotion, wades the filmmaker Mark Levin, who very smartly introduces us to his father at the start of the film. His father explains his own world view quietly and rationally. At his advanced age, he is patient with the ignorant and is a model of tolerance. I can see why Levin introduces us to him, early on in the film.

It's a very powerful film, Dear Reader. It exposes hatred and bigotry for the ugly denial of reality that it has to be in order to exist. It silently bears witness to demagogury of hatred. Once you hear the words spoken with conviction by the Confidently Ignorant, you clearly see what side of the argument you HAVE to fall on, if you are to be a humanist and if you are concern yourself with the well being of your fellow man.

I think it should be shown in college humanity courses and in churches of all faiths. And most importantly, it should be shown in the dark corners of the world where anti-semitism is the fuel that feeds the anger of the religiously extreme.

Do yourself a favor and seek this very powerful film out and experience it for yourself. And if you have a friend like Joe, of your own, someone who also is interested in the world around you and thirsts for knowledge, seek them out and watch it with them. And both of you can be enriched by it.

Go see this movie.

Mr. B

My Kind of Town...

Last year, the Tribune discovered previously unknown photos in their archives that had been taken in the 1940's by a cub photographer. His name was Kurt Vonnegut. Yep, THAT Kurt Vonnegut. I saved copies of them on my work computer. And today, when I've returned to my city, after a long trip back to Kentucjy, I felt like checking them out again and remembering what I love about this city. I thought I would share them with you, here.

These are the pictures that Vonnegut took.


The Train Station.


Dinner at the Illustrious Pump Room.



Comparatively, this is dinner in a South Side residents tenement.


Lunch on the job.


Clerks at the Stock Exchange.


An Underwear Model.


A Young Couple Out for Cocktails and Live Jazz Music.


State Street at night.
I presume this was taken from the El platform.
It's my favorite picture of the bunch.

10 Things I've Learned from Queer Eye.

I admit it. I watch "Queer Eye" on Bravo. I like all the hustle and bustle of the preparation of the "Big Event" and then watching it actually come together as a big success or a complete flop. I DVR new episodes and watch them whenever I get a few free minutes.

Watching these guys make over these pseudo-slobs, I've learned a few things about dress and fashion that I've actually applied to my own life. If I were to try, really hard, I bet I could easily think of 10 things i've learned from watching Queer Eye.

Here goes...

1.) Splash a dash of cologne on your chest before you dress in the morning. The heat from your body activates the cologne and you smell fresh all day long.

2.)Black shoes? Black belt. Brown Shoes? Brown Belt. Mix and match at your own peril.

3.) 3 hampers for the men's bedroom. 1 for lights. 1 for darks. 1 for dry cleaning. (I have yet to put this particular tip to use. I prefer the pile on the floor by the hamper method. I clearly need more hampers.

4.) When killing a lobster for food preparation, use one swift, killing stroke. Going slowly is painfuland cruel for the lobster.

5.) Wow, there sure are a lot of cheeses out there.

6.) Moisturize, Moisturize, moisturize. Your skin will thank you for it.

7.) Wearing a long, dumpy sweater? Tuck it in, in the front and puff it out like a regular shirt. This accentuates your nice waist line.

8.) All nudists are old, fat hippies.

9.) When hanging pictures, break up the straight horizontal lines of the picture frames by making a sort of wall collage. It's visually more interesting.

10.) Don't be afraid of wearing colors. You can't carry the black/grey/khaki's look out of college forever.

+1. Don't be afraid to dance when a pretty girl comes up and invites you. Confidence can be faked and if you keep your movements sort of simple and rhythm based, you'll be fine. On a dance floor, everybody else is too busy dancing with someone else, to notice you and your silly dance.

Thanks, Queer Eye!

Mr. B.

Life Swim.

I just took an intensely long deep, dive down into someone else's life by reading their journal.

I swam past tiny, mundane details ("Here's what I had for lunch today!") and could make out the murky forms of gigantic Life Revelations moving around in the darkness below me ("I could never connect with my parents and sometimes I secretly hate them.").
I trolled around for nearly an hour, diving down deeper and deeper into the past, each journal entry going further and further into the past. ("If George Bush wins this election...") I looked around it was well over a year ago, where I was, with more to explore ahead of me.
And the author of this particularly aquatic journal is a refreshingly honest person. They make no efforts to hide their victories, amusements and basic needs.
I saw the refreshingly vibrant colors of the coral reefs that make up their Romantic Life. ( " Guess what, he loved my antipasto last night.")
A school of Amusing Anecdotes darted past me, completely ignoring my presence as they presented themselves to me. ("You should see what this guy at work has on. I thought 'Gay Pride Week' is next month.")
I swam around, diving down as far as I would dare, skimming sections and focusing in with laser proficiency on topics that interested me. I blocked everything else out and let myself get lost in the totality of this other persons vividly recounted life.
("Which makes total sense, if you consider my deeply religious upbringing and how hard I worked to get away from all of that.")
By the time I was done and swam for the surface, nearly an hour had passed and I had to pull away and come back here to my comfortable shoreline to seek refuge. My eyes watered from the strain and I have fat droplets of their life, still in my ears, clinging to me, stubbornly. ("I want.." "I need.." "I love...") I think that if I walk around a bit and exercise my jaw, my ears will pop and I'll put some distance between me and the person I just swam around in.

In actual life, I've spent less than an hour in this persons company. I have no perspective on how they want to present themselves to me, in real life. I only know them as the person that they present in their journal. As the person that I suspect them truly to be. Future interractions will be an odd mix of getting to know them and reconciling the person that I see with the person that I just read about.

Or swam around in, if you'll forgive the heavy-handed poetry...

Mr. B.

PS. I wonder if that experience is what it is like for people to read back into this blog. Or if I'm the only nerd who actually bothers to dig backwards through other people's writings to read that stuff. I think other people just skim and look for juicy sex or their own names.

Repository Updated!

Hey Video nerds!

I've added a ton of new clips in the You Tube Repository.

A few Michel Gondry Videos.
Shatner's Se7en spoof from the Mtv Video Awards.
Some Star Wars Bloopers.
The SNL Star Wars Audition Tapes.
The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins as performed by Leonard Nimoy.
Some Seventies Sci Fi Goodness. (Buck Rogers & The Six Million Dollar Man)

and

Tango.

(Do yourself a favor and check out Tango.)

Anyways, it's all there waiting for you.

Check it out, by clicking here.

Cheers,
Mr. B

Gentlemen, We Can Rebuild Him..

"Steve Austin, astronaut. A man barely alive. Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world's first bionic man. Steve Austin will be that man. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster."
-Introduction to The Six Million Dollar Man.

I've come to a decision recently, Dear Reader. I'm sick of walking around inside this body. I am going to make some changes this year.

Starting right now.

More exercise.
Smaller food portions.
Less carbs and sugars.
No more non-Diet Soda at all.
More water in the diet.
And nuts and fruits and snacks instead of sugary candies and what not.

I'm playing softball in the summer and getting outdoors more often.
I'm going to begin walking and jogging for pleasure. I have the Ipod and the track shoes now, why not use them?

Why the urgency to make this change?

Three reasons actually...

I spent Saturday night with a pretty little girl who saddled up to the Town Hall bar with me and engaged me in conversation for two hours and then wanted to go to a late night dinner with me and then, at the moment when two people who've spent that much time with each other are supposed to make a move and lock lips, she balked and then couldn't explain why.

And the reason why, Dear Reader, is because I do not physically present a package that was appealing to her. Sure the conversation was soooooooooo interesting to her. Kept her rapt attention for hours, but the moment of actual physical intimacy just didn't appeal to her. And there's no other way to say it, than to say, it was my physical appearance.

This isn't morbid self flaggelation, it's the stone cold truth.

The other reason is a careless blog entry in "The Frustrating Girl's" blog. (Which I won't link for you here. Sorry) She's dating someone now. That explains the unannounced absence. And this guy is "a real change for her." In that, he's CUTE. She further explains that she doesn't normally date CUTE guys, but instead dates the "crazy, CRAZY, crazy" ones. Her exact words.

Which, I guess, infers that I am "not-cute and crazy, CRAZY, crazy". That sort of explains why I don't get attention from her anymore.

Okay, man.
Message received.

These girls need for me to make a change too. They're telling me something that I already know. That self-acceptance of my less than perfect body is NOT a strong selling point. All that pressure that girls feel to be two sizes smaller and perky-titted, we guys also feel to be slim, svelte and washboard-stomached. I already knew this. I just ignored it and didn't want to deal with it.

Also, a very nice young man, that I barely knew, died of a very serious heart condition, this weekend past. He was only 34. I am 31. And carrying around about 50 lbs of un-needed weight. Add to that, my family has a history of weak hearts and it's time to face up to what I've been avoiding dealing with for years now. If I don't actually apply myself to some sort of fitness program, I am going to be dead and gone, sometime soon.

Well, that's about enough self-delusion and quiet, firm denial. I have to get proactive about this and make some changes. Start all over. Actually pay attention to my diet and get some exercise and start to look like I want to look, instead of how I accept that I look. There's a dangerously handsome, thin man fighting to get out of me. Time to make that happen.

So, yes, changes to be made.

Starting now.

Here we go!

Mr. B.

Man + Woman = ???

I want to talk briefly about the relationships between men and women and how sex screws everything up.

This might just be a "me" thing. I don't know. You'll have to judge for yourself if this is how you are hard-wired or not. I welcome feedback in the comments section about this one. (well, about any post, but perhaps this one in particular.)

I feel like I am hard-wired to judge women, as soon as I meet them on whether I am going to have sex with them or not. Or would be willing to, rather. And these ladies are put in one category or another and there's not a whole lot of shuffling between them, once they're put into these categories. It's like I meet a girl and think "Hmm, could I become sexually aroused by this person? No? Well then, put them in the 'Just Friends'category." or I think "Wow. She's superhot. I think I will file her away into the 'Someday I Would Like To Have Sex With Her" category."

These two lists don't ACTUALLY exist in paper or electronic form anywhere. This is just how I think about them. In my own private thoughts.

If someone is on the "Just Friends" list, I will hang out with them and spend time with them. We will joke around and visit socially and could potentiall become very good friends. But if she makes a pass at me, I turn into Reverend Nevermore and shut that shit down, toot sweet. No sexing up the "Just Friends" girls.

If they're in the "Other" category, I do similar things. I hang out with them and have friendly chats with them. We joke around and perhaps the changes are subtle ones. I'm more likely to pat them on the shoulder when I see them or accept a hug from them. Maybe I flirt with them, throwing off the wittiest double entendre that I can think up. Or I catch myself watching them move through the room, or onstage and watch them with unhidden interest. I also do the stupidest favors for them.

Need help moving that Pac man machine? No problem. What time?
Need someone to meet you in the middle of winter downtown for a charity event? I can do that! When is it?
Borrowing $100 for a new purse? Here you go! Pay me back whenever you think of it.

I swear, I've found myself standing in the most empty, god-forsaken places in Chicago, in the early hours of the morning, waiting on some girl in the "Other" list to pay some attention to me. Or following her to the 4 AM bar, thinking, "maybe tonight, something will happen between us." It's ridiculous the things I put myself through, if there's a hint that some girl in the "Other" list is going to give me the love. (Add 2 hours to the service time that I will give them, if she's actually flirted with me or hinted that sex is forthcoming. Add an extra hour to that, if she used the word "blowjob" in front of me.)

And this division of women is based purely on physical appearance. At least it is initially. I've spent time around women on the "Other" list and been convinced to move them to the "Friends" list, after listening to them talk for a few hours.
About themselves.
Or my friends that they've boned. (That's a little callback there, for long time readers. Kudos for continuity.)

A woman's relationship status is also incidental to the list. I don't care if she's married, in a relationship, gay or living in another country entirely. My interest in them totally disregards these conditions. My feelings of attraction for these women is a deep, driving force, regardless of their interest in me. Crushes, I guess you would call them.

Listen, if you're a girl and a friend of mine and you are reading this, you are on one of those lists. We've just never discussed it. Please don't be offended. I don't know why I do this, either.
I don't neccesarily like it. In fact, I specifically do not like it.

I feel like there are experiences that I am missing with these girls. That I am limiting my ability to interract with them on basic human levels. That I am thinking of these women as either "potential sex partners" or "nothing but friends, ever". And both seem sort of limiting.

Can I have a super-sexy girl who is just a friend, that I'm not checking out every time she bends over to pick something up?
Can I be missing a deeper, more long lasting friendship with some girl who is relegated to the "Just Friends" list?

Also, succesful relationships are so much more than sexual compatability. Leaving that aside, there's also Care and Love and Respect. Patience. Trust. The Sharing of Lives. The Intermingling of Families. Planning for the Future Together. Plotting the Course of the Small Family Unit. Co-habitation. Dealing with Conflict. Sleeping Arrangements. Mutual Respect for Spiritual Matters. Tivo Custody Battles. Etc. Etc. Etc. So many important things that determine the longevity of a relationship and they're all a million miles away from how her ass looks in a pair of tight jeans. Or how low cut her shirt is. And yet, these are the things that I am using to determine if she even has a chance with me.

It just doesn't feel like the smartest criteria to handle these sorts of things.

I'm 31 years old now.

I should know better by now.

This seems like how I've operated since I saw my first bare breast or had my first make out session. This rigid classification. This implied interest on the first meeting ("Hello, my name is Mr. B. Would you like to have some sex with me?") It's always been the status quo. Perhaps it's time for a change. Perhaps catching this pattern and figuring it out, is the first step towards getting it a little more under control.

Do you do this too?
Do you have these same two lists? (Or lists similar to this?)
And are yours as rigid and as flexible as mine are?
And do you worry that nobody else does this?

Lustfully Yours,
Mr. B.

A Brief Chat With a Pretty Important Person...

I just finished a short, pleasant conversation with Kelly Leonard.

He's the producer of Second City, here in Chicago. I understand him to be a very, very busy, important person. And he's pretty powerful, here in Chicago improv scene. He can flat out keep you from working at Second City and close other doors for you beyond that. He can close doors that I don't even know exist yet.

So, I was surely a little awestruck when we talked. I tried to keep it out of my voice. I tried to sound smooth and confident and friendly. I hope that's the impression that I made, at least.

He had called me because David Shepherd had contacted him about the project that we're working on together. David was writing him to ask if we could have permission to use the audio recording of an early Second City sketch called "Football comes to the University of Chicago." (In the sketch, a no-nonsense football coach tries to introduce the sport of football to the pasty, lily-livered intellectuals of the U of C campus. They don't get it and he loses his cool. Hilarity ensues.) Kelly surprised us all by saying that he actually had a videotape of the sketch, as it was performed back in 1960. A very rare find. And he was offering it up to us to use in this project if we wanted it.

I responded in the affirmative and David notified Kelly. Kelly called my cell this morning, but I missed the call. I called him back, but left a message on his voicemail (his receptionist says that he's "in a meeting" 24 hours a day, which frees him up to work at his own pace.) He returned my call and we chatted a bit.

We talked about the tape and he asked what it was for. I'd inquired about the legality of crediting them for it's use. He was super helpful there. He said that the title "courtesy of Second City" should appear in the credits. And that if we ever wanted to "SELL" the tape, we should contact him and he would help us with the legalese of that. See? Super-helpful.

We also chatted about a magazine ad that I'd found online for Rogue Magazine, showing three early members of the Second City hawking recording equipment. Turns out he'd seen it, but he thought it was pretty neat, too. He said "there are so many cabinets and bins here that nobody has every opened before. We open them from time to time and find the strangest things. I just recently stumbled onto the Stage Managers notebooks from when Bill Murray was here. Apparently, there's a lot written in there about how he was consistently late for rehearsals and how much that pissed the stage manager off."

And that's a fine example of how talking with Kelly, one gets little nuggets of Improv history dropped into one's lap and is enriched by it.


He agreed to ship the VHS to me. (I can't wait to see it.) We signed off the call cordially and he went back to doing Very Important Things and I came here and posted this. We geeked out a bit, about Improv history. And it was a pleasure to chat with him. He was as nice as he could've been with me and I really appreciate that.

It absolutely made my day.

Cheers,
Mr. B

D & D = Death & Destruction.

6 out of 15 voters say, "Mr.B is going to DIE!!!"

I'm not sure how clear that photo will be, but it's the CIN D&D Death Poll.
(you can see a better view of it, by actually clicking on it.)

It asks CIN readers to guess which D&D character is likely to die first in the game. (For the record, I know it's a bit. I'm not actually upset about it. I think it's amusing that 6 out of 15 voters are POSITIVE that I'm going to get whacked. Who knows, they may be right.)

So, yeah, I'm playing D & D again, for the first time since college. I have finally found an exceptionally good storyteller. Eric Schaeffer is leading us all on a merry campaign together. I am good friends with all of the other players (except the one that I've only met once, but who knows, we might become friends in the future.)

I'm playing a longsword fighter. Which is what this team of bards, wizards and archers actually need right now. So many long distance combat folks, that they're pretty useless if the baddies ever get up close and personal with them. That's where my sword and shield come in handy.

I've only played a single night. Looks like we're making Monday nights our regular game night. We play in Rene Duquesnoy's swank-ass bachelor pad. Everyone is remarkably dedicated to the game and take it sort of seriously. There's no person that has to be convinced that they are enjoying themselves and should get into it. And when we aren't seriously discussing strategy and the world, we're making bits on one another and giving each other grief.

On the first night, which was all combat by the way, we worked together as a team to repel a bunch of forest bandits from three horsecarts in a wagon train. Honestly, I performed pretty poorly. I was just a starting level character and even getting my sword to connect with anything but air was a chore. Together though, we managed to survive and even turned a profit in the process. I anticipate that at the next session that we're going to do a little more role-playing.

In discussion with the storyteller, we discovered that my character is a foreigner, lost in this world. And as such, he has a very tenuous grasp of the common language. So, I'll be flirting with a dialect throughout the game. It's a thick, intentionally articulate Eastern Eurpean dialect and I'm attempting to use the term "I" whenever I refer to myself, even when "my" or "mine" is more appropriate. Also, I'm attempting to keep LITERALLY everything I say, in the present tense. Even when referring to past or future events. I've been walking around my apartment practicing this. It sounds very strange, but still communicates the intended meaning, pretty well.

(I got that idea from my own training with Spanish. I could never learn any tense other than present. It was the block that I never could get over. I'm applying it to this character.)

He also doesn't have a name, right now. I've been sampling names over the past week and haven't found the one that fits my idea of him, yet. So, it's a work in progress.

Add this D&D game...
the softball league that I joined...
the recorder lessons that I want to take...

And you'll see that I'm definitely branching out this year, to pick up new skills that I've never developed before. I'm trying new things and enjoying some old things that are new to me, again.

It's a very exciting summer for me.

If my character actually survives the summer...

Cheers,
Mr. B

Dick Cheney throws like a girl.

That's a picture of Vice President, Dick Cheney throwing out the first pitch at the Washington Nationals game yesterday. People in the stands immediately started booing and screaming at him. It was so loud that FOX News had to cut off the audio of it's live feed. Otherwise, they would have to admit that the Veep isn't very well liked right now.

And the pitch?
Well, lets just say that it fell a little short, rolling into home plate.

Later that night, Cheney said on the Bill O Reilly show that "the pitch was strong and sure and would've very likely been a strike. And anyone who wants to say otherwise, can speak into the barrel of my hunting rifle."*

Cheers,
Mr. B

*That last sentance was a lie, by the way.

Ex-ReConnected.

I just found out that my last long-term girlfriend is finally seeing someone again.

Actually, to be technically accurate, I found out a few weeks ago, when a small mention of it popped up in her blog. Which she may or may not know that I read. Honestly, if she does know that I read it, there's no reason why she shouldn't mention it. Our relationship is nearly two years in the past.

In keeping with the style of her blog, this mysterious new boyfriend went un-named in the blog. Just his first initial. Which I knew from the past, meant it was the first initial of his first name.

So, I knew that she was dating someone, but not who.
Today, I found out who.

Well, in a separate blog entry, she posted a pic of the two of them together. And he's looking surprised at the camera (the same faux "WHAT? You are taking a picture of ME?" face that I like to make, which makes me look slightly retarded). And she is kissing his cheek.

And I know this person. And his name matches the initial and 2 and 2 make 4, Dear Reader.

Click. Now I know what's what.

And this is a strange place to be. To know something that nobody has told you. A thing that really is none of your business. Which doesn't actually affect your world at all.

He's a nice guy. A really nice guy. I like him a lot. And she's a good friend now. We got past the whole awkward "we used to have sex, now we don't anymore" phase. And yes, there were some hurtful months in there and now we can see each other and joke around a bit. And work together at the theater that we both love, very, very much.

I'm happy for her. I am happy that she has found someone that I know and trust. Someone who is also looking for the same sort of relationship that she is looking for (which I ultimately could not give her). They both want to be with someone that they trust and love. Someone who feels the same way about them. Long term. With familial aspirations there. Kids. Mortgage. Picket Fence. The whole deal. I think they really have potential to find happiness together. Which is what I want for them both.

For my part, I feel really removed from the whole affair. A non participant. I know what's going on and there's a hint of satisfaction from a mystery being solved. But they both really feel a million miles away from me. I feel no ownership over her. I feel no resentment for him. I feel like what they're exploring is a private thing. And I've got no business there.

Which is a surprisingly unselfish thing for me to think. Someone, somewhere is enjoying the happiness that I, myself, don't enjoy. And that doesn't bother me in the slightest. I don't feel lessened by it, at all.

So, good for them. Hooray for two good people finding each other. I wish them a long, happy, productive, satisfying life together. And a smooth transition from "just dating" into "what they both secretly want" and whatever lies beyond that.

Cheers all,
Mr. B.

The True Story of Easter.

My friend and co-worker Spiro is from Greece and was raised by Grecian Atheists. As a child, Easter was a time for candy and holiday parties, but it always lacked any religious sentiments for Spiro.

So it was that Spiro approached me this morning to ask me about the Christian story behind Easter.

This is what I told him…

You know that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, was born at Christmas time, right?
Well, Easter is the holiday that we created to remember that this was when he was killed for our sins and was eventually resurrected from the Dead. And we celebrate the way that we do, in order to never forget the terrible events that ensued, after he returned.

You might know that Christ was crucified for heresy by the Romans. They HATED Jesus. He was taken to a tall hill in Galilee in the Middle East, right outside of Jerusalem. He was savagely beaten by the Romans for days, to get him to renounce his Father, the Lord. But he never would, so the contrived to kill him.

They made him carry his cross through town with the other criminals, while people threw rocks at him and screamed obscenities at him and even peed on him from the rooftops of the town. On the Hill of Gethsemene, just outside of Jerusalem, the Roman guards forced Jesus to erect his own cross, knowing full well that he was going to be killed on it, the very next day. This was common punishment in Roman times, reserved for the most heinous of criminals. Because he was also the son of a carpenter, Jesus’ cross was better constructed than the other criminals crosses. Heavier and more solid than any of the other crosses on that hill, his was also lodged firmly in the Earth and looked pretty sturdy. He also finished it a half day before the other criminals. He had a good work ethic.

The Romans made Jesus build them some ladders too and then they made him fashion a crown of thorns and etch out a very attractive sign that said, “Here hangs Jesus Christ, King of the Jews.” When he finished those things, the Romans used HIS ladders and hoisted him up on the cross. Then, they used nails (which he’d straightened for them) and nailed him to the cross, piercing his hands and feet. They had to use some extra nails on his feet, because a single nail wouldn’t hold a whole, human body. The point is, it hurt, a lot. As a final injury, they placed the very nice, extra sharp crown of thorns on his head and left it there. Then, the Romans stood around, waiting for Jesus to die. No food. No water. He was to be tortured by the hot, desert sun and then would starve to death.

People from Jerusalem came up on the hill for several days, to yell at Jesus and throw stuff at him. He prayed that they might throw him some food or a hammer to pry the nails out of his hands, but they never did. Just rocks and sticks and rats and snakes and stuff. And rabbits. Rabbits were cheaper in those days, so the Romans threw angry rabbits at Jesus. Which made Jesus pretty miserable. Turns out he had a big rabbit-phobia.

After three or four days of hanging Jesus out, the Roman got bored with the whole affair and tried to do Jesus in quickly, while no one was looking. They jabbed him in the gut a few times with a spear, but that only made him really, really sick. If you know anything from Westerns, you know that belly injuries are a slow way to die. Also, it woke Jesus up from the hallucinations that he was having and he swore at them until his voice went hoarse.

Two days after that, the Romans waited until everyone went to bed and up-ended Jesus’ cross, crushing him under it’s weight. I bet, as he was falling down, he thought, “I should’ve used a lighter wood to build this thing.” And then he died. For our sins. It was a terrible death.

It was Roman custom to bury the dead in caves and then to seal the caves up with gigantic boulders, to keep people from sneaking in and messing around with the dead bodies. (They had a lot of wierd kinks back then.) They hadn’t invented the shovel yet, so burials were out of the question. The Romans laid Jesus inside of his cave and then it took 8 or 9 of them to roll the perfectly round boulder into place, sealing him up forever.

Or so they thought…

For it was that two days after that, Christ was resurrected from the grave. He was an Undead. Like a zombie, but the fast ones from the new “Dawn of the Dead” movie. The day he resurrected, he announced his return by rolling the perfectly round boulder down the Hill and into town where it smashed into a Roman senior citizen's home, killing all the Romans inside. (But miraculously sparing the Jewish residents.) After that, the nightmare of Zombie Jesus began.

Jesus visited his Apostles first. He caught most of them camping outside of town and by killing them and biting their necks, he raised them from the dead, to join in his unholy campaign. John, Paul, Luke, Ringo. They were all there. And they thirsted for Roman blood.

The Hell-postles would strike at night and attack the Romans inside their homes. In one terrible night, they killed only the first born sons of the town, just to mess with their heads. Another time, they turned into locusts and really made a mess of town, getting locust and locust guts into everything.

The Roman Pharaoh knew who was causing all the trouble. It was that cursed Zombie Jesus and his 11 Hell-Postles. He was told that by Jesus's former sidekick, Judas Iscariot, who originally turned Jesus in at The Last Supper. Judas had always had a bit of a gay crush on Jesus, but Jesus had a thing for whores and wouldn’t “lay” with Judas. The last thing Judas did before sending in the Roman guards was to make out with Jesus. Which made The Last Supper really awkward for everyone there. Jesus was super pissed about that.

Anyways, the Roman Pharaoh said, “Surely somebody must stop this Zombie Jesus! I will assemble a League of my most powerful soldiers and people to fight Jesus and save us from his Unholy Wrath! Who will rise to defend Jerusalem?!?” So he sent out messengers to assemble the most powerful Romans in the land.

There was Samson, who had Super Strength, but always sort of fussed about his hair. He could also fly, but was deathly allergic to the rare mineral Samsonite!

And David, who could hit anything with his slingshot. His parents were killed by a guy with weak ankles, so David swore on their grave that he would avenge their death by fighting crime and protecting Jerusalem. After that, he became a dead-eye with the slingshot and would go around shooting people in the ankles, when he fought them.

There was also John The Baptist, who spent a lot of time in the water and could talk to fish, using his mental powers!

There was also Moses, who was their team mage. He looked and sounded a lot like Gandalf the Grey and went around setting people’s bushes on fire. I mean, of course, their pubic hair and in those days, that fire could burn for a day or so. Everyone really hated Moses.

Rounding out the team was their Master of Disguises, Joseph and his Amazing Technicolor Collection of Costumes. No one knew what he really looked like. Every time he showed up for meetings, he was always wearing a different costume!

There weren’t any girls on the Jerusalem League. Because it was predominantly a male-oriented society in those days. Just like modern Afghanistan. One girl, Rebekkah, hung around the team, but mainly made snacks for them and cleaned up after their meetings. She was more like an intern, than an actual member.

The Jerusalem League began a long and terrible war against Zombie Jesus and his Hell-Postles. There are LITERALLY tons of stories of the times that they fought. Too many to retell, actually.

One time Jesus was disguised as a stage magician and he turned a single fish into many fish, to feed the audience, but it turned out they were poisonous and only John the Baptist could stop Jesus, by using his mind powers to summon a great, white whale to send a wave into town, washing the poisonous fish away. Before it left, the whale ate a guy, but nobody really knew who he was, so it was cool.

One other time, Jesus and his Hell-Postles showed up at a temple and started tearing the place up. Smashing people’s stuff and cussing them out. Samson stopped them, by bringing the temple crashing down around them. He managed to kill a few of the Hell-Postles in the fight, Ringo, George and John, but Paul got away. So did Jesus. Samson had a heart attack and died in the battle.

Eventually, the Jerusalem League got a tip off from these three passing kings that Jesus and his gang were hiding out in a manger, outside of town. They showed up on a Friday and a major fight happened. Angels and Devils came out for the fight and there were casualties on both sides.
David had his hands cut off, so he had to slingshot with his feet and his teeth.
Moses threw tablets at people until his arms nearly fell off.
John the Baptist had his head cut off.
But eventually, they were able to kill Zombie Jesus, when they held him out in the open, until the suns rays hit him and he burst into flames! ”I’ll beeeeeee baaaaaack!” he screamed and then he turned into a salt statue of himself, which promptly exploded. Thereafter, people in Jerusalem celebrate the “Good Friday” when Zombie Jesus was finally defeated.

All the Hell Postles were dead. All the Jerusalem League were dead, except for Moses, who retired to a small port town and lived the rest of his life running a traveling zoo out of an ark, which was what you and I would call “a boat”.

A lot of our modern Easter rituals come from this dark and bloody time in Christian history. For example, we hide Easter eggs to remember how Roman women would hide their children out in the woods, when Zombie Jesus and his Hell-Postles would come riding into town. Until the 1920’s, it was little baby dolls that parents would hide from their children. But in the ‘20s, kids figured out that dolls were pretty dumb and the parents had to switch over to plastic eggs with pocket change in them.

Also, marshmallow Peeps come in sets of three rows of four, this symbolizes the 11 Hell-Postles and Zombie Jesus. As a lad, I was taught to eat “all of my Hell-Postles” and if possible to relish biting their heads off first, before I went back and devoured all of their carcasses.

And we eat chocolate rabbits, because Zombie Jesus was terrified of rabbits and by eating them, we absorb their power, strengthening our resistance to Zombie Jesus’ influence. We also visit the Easter Bunny at the Mall to promise him our virginity if he will protect us from Zombie Jesus, if only through puberty. That's why you see so many pictures of kids screaming and crying at Easter parties, if the Easter Bunny shows up. They're afraid he's there to collect his due, a little early!

Also, we dye Easter Eggs because white eggs are boring and it really spices them up, by dipping them into water with coloring in it. And because the Egg Council of America has a HUGE investment in Easter and really push eggs on people. Just another example of a big business sticking it’s profits into other people’s religious holidays. (Just like Valentines Day!)

As you can see, the Easter traditions make a lot of sense, if you know the history behind them. Some people say that "Early Christians co-opted these symbols of fertility that the Pagans used to celebrate the coming of spring and the rites of fertility, by stamping Jesus’ names all over the holiday", but I think that’s a buncha’ malarkey. I know the True Story of Easter. And now you do too!

Happy Easter, Spiro!

Happy Easter, everybody!

Super Movie.

Over the weekend, it was announced that the new Superman move, Superman Returns, will be released in 3D on the IMAX.
Oh SNAP! That's awesome. This movie was already going to be phenomenal, but now it's going be in 3D? Sign me up for that!

I know where I'm going to be on June 30, 2006.

I can't wait.

(Until it opens, I am content to watch the trailer for it.)

Cheers,
Mr. B